


Elliot's Very Bad, No Good, Horrible Morning

by Nemesis (ThetaSigma), ThetaSigma



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, I torture Elliot some more, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/Nemesis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot has a very bad, horrible morning where he sees things that he never, ever wanted to see and will need therapy to be able to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elliot's Very Bad, No Good, Horrible Morning

Elliot woke up slowly, face down on the bed. He hauled himself across the bed and made it to the trashcan in time to throw up. Groaning, he dragged his hungover ass to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash water on his face. He was in Boston on a case – fucking fruitless, their perp had been caught by the Boston PD on an unrelated crime, and Boston had told them in no uncertain terms that they were keeping this bastard. 

Having splashed water on his face and quelled his nausea enough to move around, Elliot exited his room in search of coffee. He couldn’t remember why he got so drunk last night; usually he could handle not bringing sick bastards to justice better than this. He patted his pockets to make sure he had his room key card. Good. He didn’t have to deal with reception.

He stumbled uncoordinatedly around the hallway, heading downstairs for coffee. He needed coffee. It was the only thought in his very fuzzy head. 

Until he saw the guy in a full rabbit costume. With a disturbingly accurate genital area.

He stared.

Last night started coming back to him. They had ended up in the same hotel as a _furry convention_. Welcome to Boston, Munch had said wryly, knocking back his drink.

Elliot had flashes in his memory of all sorts of animals, all of them disturbingly sexual. Some of them had been wearing bondage gear. This rabbit wasn’t, thankfully, but he was making Elliot’s head hurt and his stomach swim.

A fox came out of one of the rooms and caressed the rabbit’s fuzzy tail. “I’ve been looking for you,” the fox said.

Elliot turned and started walking back to his room. He didn’t need coffee _that_ badly.

He made it back to his floor without seeing any other animals, _thank God_ , but he stared down the hallway with the sudden realization that he could not, for the life of him, remember which room was his. He patted his pockets and pulled out a keycard. There was another in his pocket, too – they must’ve given him two yesterday.

He sighed and started trying all the doors. The only other option was to go to reception and ask which room was his, and the way to reception was probably filled with more furries, something he could _not_ handle right now.

He slid the key into the door and waited. Red.

He moved down the hall and tried the next one. Nothing. He tried the next door. Still nothing. He tried three more, then sighed in relief as the door flashed green.

He threw it open happily, grateful to be back in his oasis of sanity.

Except it wasn’t his room. Munch and Fin had given him their extra room key in case of an emergency.

And… fuck. They were busy.

Elliot stared. It was _not_ a sanity-confirming sight. Fin was in tight jeans, tighter than Elliot had ever seen on him, shirtless, in a leather jacket Elliot had never seen on him either, a really nice leather jacket, his omnipresent necklace around his neck, his hair pulled back as always, and in sunglasses.

And he was wielding a whip. He hadn’t noticed the door being opened, and he brought it down on John’s ass.

John’s mode of attire was worse. John was in knee-high boots, stockings, a garter belt, and a leather mini-skirt, which was pushed up so his ass was exposed. He was in a belly shirt, too, and his skin was glittering. John had a tattoo on his upper arm, and Elliot was close enough that he could see it was half a cuff, with the word ‘Babe’ inside it – holy shit, they had gotten _tattoos_? Elliot was sure that Fin had one, too, not that he could see it when Fin had that jacket on. John howled as the whip hit him, _definitely_ not in pain, and Elliot screamed. Probably a better response would’ve been to back out quietly and pretend that he had never, ever seen this, but he was hungover and not in possession of most his faculties yet, and he had just walked in on one of his colleagues whipping the other while the one being whipped was in a mini-skirt, and he was definitely going to need therapy after this.

A lot of it.

Fin and John looked at him, and John tugged the skirt down. 

“Elliot, _what the fuck, man_? We gave you the key in case something came up in the case!” Fin said, extremely annoyed. He took his sunglasses off and folded his arms across his chest, hiding the whip.

Elliot stammered something about being hungover and not remembering which room was his. Or which _key_ , for that matter.

Fin gave him an extremely disbelieving look. 

“It’s true!” Elliot protested. “Look, I’ve learned enough about you two to know _never_ to enter your damn room! At this point, I’m gonna need therapy.” he said, remembering the sex toy store.

“A good point,” John said, getting off the bed and standing next to Fin, squeezing his arm.

Elliot pointedly ignored John’s erection, _extremely_ noticeable in John’s outfit. Elliot tried, to the best of his ability, to fix his eyes on John’s face, which, for fuck’s sake, was covered in make-up, but it was hard not to look, it was like a fucking trainwreck, he couldn’t look away.

John gave Elliot a pointed look. “Is there anything we can help you with? Or do you think you can leave us alone now?”

“Uh… which room _is_ mine?” Elliot asked before leaving. They told him, and he left.

He thought about it – he definitely hadn’t been joking when he said he’d need therapy to deal with this. He dialed Huang’s number and asked for recommendations, refusing to talk about _why_ he needed to unburden his soul.

*** 

It took a year of therapy to work through that scene he’d walked in. It had brought up all sorts of other issues, and Elliot was actually in a better place now in a lot of aspects, but it was months before he could look at either Munch of Fin without seeing that scene in his head.


End file.
